Oh Come All Ye Faithful
by parttimeficwriter
Summary: Ruth does some soul searching. Set in S8. R/H.


**This is set in S8 so spoilers for anyone that hasn't seen it yet. Self beta'd so apologies for likely mistakes but I'm just trying to upload it whilst I have the free time.**

**The title doesn't belong to me, obviously ;-), but is the Christmas Carol I imagine to be sung at the end. Anyone that doesn't know it, or hasn't listened to it for a while, should check out the Kings College version on youtube. It never fails to make me cry! **

**Merry Christmas everyone!**

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Her fingers tap lightly at the keyboard as she works quietly at her desk. The Grid is practically deserted and the glow of her desk lamp illuminates her tired face as she works her way through the evening as she pretends it is a day just like any other and not her first Christmas Eve back in England. She tries to remember how she used to spend it, _before_, but finds that her memories have all blurred into one indistinct cloud and she doesn't think she has the energy to try and bring her Christmases past into sharper focus right now. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of even footsteps approaching and she listens intently to the sound of him approaching as she continues to focus on the computer screen in front of her.

"Harry," she greets him, softly, as he comes into her peripheral vision.

"It's late, Ruth," he says, pointedly and without preamble.

"I'm almost done."

"It's Christmas Eve, Ruth. Go home," he points to the files scattered across her desk, "this can all wait."

She finds herself fighting the impulse to smile at his concern and bites down on her lip sharply as she risks a glance upwards. Almost as soon as she looks at him she wishes she hadn't; the mixture of concern and tenderness in his eyes is nearly more than she can bear. "I-I'm not going home straight away," she clears her throat and looks away, "I'm going to Midnight Mass," she admits, shyly.

"Oh," he responds, inelegantly. Whatever he had been expecting her to say; it hadn't been that.

"So I have some time to kill until then," she offers by way of explanation.

"Yes. Right." He pulls himself together and manages to sound vaguely more coherent. "Well, I'll be in my office for a little while longer if you need anything."

She nods her thanks and he turns, ready to retreat to the relative safety of his office.

"Do you want to come with me?" The question is out of her mouth before she has really thought it through but when he turns back to face her she realises that she really _would_ like him to accompany her.

"Yes," he answers, simply, after a moment, and they share a brief smile.

"I'll come and get you when it's time to leave. If that's ok?"

He nods once, gives her a long look, and then goes back to his office.

---

They walk the short distance to the Church she has picked out preferring to feel the cold wind against their faces and to hear the crunch of the snow under their feet as they make the short journey. The Church she has chosen is quite small and there is a steady trickle of people walking up the stone steps and inside as they make their approach. Ruth takes the lead and Harry follows her inside, sliding himself beside her in the cold wooden pew at the rear of the Church. His leg rests against hers and she's more affected by the small, fleeting touch than she really should be.

"I feel a bit of a fraud," she whispers, suddenly, and bites her lip at the confession.

He tilts his head to the side so he can look at her and notices her sudden interest in the dirty, wooden floor. "We all need something to believe in, Ruth. There's no shame in that," he says, gently, as he watches the emotions filter across her face. "Hope is a wonderful thing."

Her breath escapes her in a rush and she closes her eyes against the sudden emotion that rises in her chest. She's not sure how, with so few words, he has managed to comfort her but he has. _And it isn't the first time_ a niggling voice reminds her and, as she sneaks a glance at his profile, she realises it won't be the last time. He will always be there for her, in whatever capacity she chooses, just as he always has been.

The Mass starts and she listens, intently, almost straining to hear every word, despite it being a story she knows well enough. The once familiar words offer her a warmth and peace but she can't deny that they don't offer her as much as she had hoped. Nor do they surpass the inner peace she has gained since Harry sat beside her, his leg brushing against hers, his solid form lending her strength and comfort. It feels oddly right to share this experience with him despite the knowledge that they are both atheists.

In the sanctuary of the Church she allows herself to think about the man seated to her right. She knows that she is their biggest stumbling block right now, or rather her guilt is. There is the inevitable guilt about George and Nico, even some for Jo, but lately the thing she mostly feels guilty about is knowing how much her other life has hurt him. A part of her knows that Jo was right, that he's not himself. She can see that he has lost some of the faith in his own judgement and it pains her to realise that she is the cause of that. He's not perfect, she's not naive to think he ever has been, but he stands for everything good and true that they fight for and she thinks that perhaps she needs to remind him that he is still that man. That she still believes in him. That he is still the good man she knows him to be; that she still loves him.

She follows the congregation as they stand to sing and as the music swells and the voices ring out in to the night her tears start to fall. She cries for George and for Nico and for Jo. She cries for the end of her old life and the beginning of her new one against her wishes. She cries for Harry, for the decisions he has had to make in the past and for the ones he will have to make in the future and, when the tears finally stop she takes a shuddering breath and realises she feels cleansed. Her return to London and a life she once knew might not have been her decision but she has finally found a small amount of peace with it. Mostly, it has to do with the man sitting next to her and she thinks it might be time to repay him the favour. Her fingers stretch and lightly brush against the hand the hangs loosely at his side and her breath catches as she feels the warm skin of his hand against her fingertips. She fumbles, slightly, but manages to slip her small hand inside his larger one and she smiles as she turns her head to meet his startled gaze.

"You," she whispers and he looks at her confused. "I believe in you."

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**Thanks for reading, please review and let me know what you think.**


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